he is
a
perpetual
notion
machine
of rusted
gears.
unkempt.
undreamt.
slowly
vanishing
into
his
own
insignificant
need.
dizzy
from the
constant
spinning.
looping
endlessly
never
going anywhere.
just a
smudge
on the
windshield
obscuring
the scenic
emptiness.

the sky is blank above me, a
canvas on which to sketch with
sunshine the many failings that
lead to this insular feeling of
grand unimportance where even the
clouds are indifferent to the
plight of self perpetuated misery